


Violent Delights

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: can totally be platonic, relatable outsider things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: Bounty Hunters role through your city all the time, but you only help a few. A lovely moment between you and our fave Mandalorian.
Relationships: The Mandalorian x reader, The Mandalorian x you
Comments: 1
Kudos: 61





	Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from my mando series oh holy jeez.

You never wanted to be a bounty hunter.

And you were not one, not really. You helped them though, sometimes, and that seemed similar enough under the right circumstances. Your home world was peaceful, quiet. A good place to hide, if you were running from some _thing_ , or some _one_. Maybe even parts of your _self_.

There were ruins around, that you found solace in when you needed to think, to be alone. You supposed they weren’t really _ruins_ , not yet, but they were still places reduced to ash, reduced to cinders and the skeletons of the structures they once were. There was a crashed TIE fighter buried beneath somewhere, and you cringed every time you saw the chipped paint of the Imperial insignia peeking through coating upon coating of filth.

It was a favorite place of yours, regardless. No one bothered you here, the place you came to think and wonder and behold the suns rise and the suns set. To bathe in their warmth and marvel at the colors they left behind or brought with them. The sky would be riddled with hues you wished upon star after star that you could touch. Wished you could paint the ground with, the wreckage with, the planet with, to make it into something _beautiful_. Beautiful, and not heartbreaking, like it still was to so many others.

Ruins like these were scattered around your world, the galaxy. Constant reminders of what you lived through, what you lost, how the Core Worlds didn’t seem to care as much about those that _weren’t_ Core Worlds.

The Mandalorian understood that, you could tell. You noticed how he watched you (visor turned in your direction, and _stayed_ ), when your eyes found the damaged parts of your city, how they lingered just a little bit _longer_ there, than they did anywhere else. How you didn’t always like to answer his questions about the damage you endured, how much your home had suffered. He recognized the wounds that weren’t quite healed, recognized what it was _like_.

He found you amongst the ruins, one night. The night before he was to leave; to finish the job he came here, to your home, to do.

You saw him approach, said nothing as he took a seat beside you. Nothing was said, not at first, not while you were both content to watch the suns slowly drip down the side of the sky. They had colored themselves a deep orange in their descent, surrounded by golden halos of light. Lilac clouds broke up the monochromatic shades of pinks and reds the sky had become. It warmed your heart, to see such a stunning sight in a place that absolutely was not. It made your chest ache.

“Thank you, for all your help,” the hunter said at last. The quiet of your location made his voice seem louder than it really was. “I can pay handsomely for your trouble.”

“My pleasure,” you smiled at him then, pulling your eyes back down to the Mandalorian beside you. “But no need. Can’t have you running around half cocked and half knowledgeable about our local fugitives, now, can we? Good way to get yourself killed.”

“Maybe that’s why I always get my ass handed to me.”

Before you knew it, a laugh tumbled through your lips, pure and strong.

“Oh do you? Aren’t Mandalorians supposed to be the best of the _best_?”

“I’m glad my misfortunes are _amusing_ ,” he said, and then - “Yes. But that doesn’t mean every day is a good day.”

Your laughter dwindled to a giggle, then silence, just as the suns above your silhouettes dwindled to rays leaking from beyond the horizon, and then darkness.

“I suppose.”

A beat of silence followed. Then two.

“The war damaged my home world too.”

“The war damaged a lot of things.”

“What happened here?”

You allowed the silence to grow, allowed it to sit heavy on your shoulders while the sky began to bleed navy and sprout pinpricks of light. Stars, planets, galaxies. They were all witness to what the Imperials and the Alliance had done to one another, to everyone else. And yet, they were still there. So were you. So was the Mandalorian.

The story left your lips, short and sweet. Details were kept at a minimum, yet your own personal story was woven between your words, glimpsed between the lines, the happenings. You never told another wanderer what happened here when they asked, but you told the Mandalorian with little to no hesitation.

Maybe because he was different. Maybe because he understood.

“We’re not . . . centered around human culture here,” you explained at last. “So everything just feels – it’s not the _same_ , you know.”

He does, and yet he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he answered at last. “I do.”

When he left at sunrise the next morning, you walked him to the crumbling edge of the city. Watched him walk away, until he disappeared into the rays of golden morning light. You hoped you saw him again, some day – the Mandalorian with a story that was so, very similar to your own.

When he looked back, you were gone.


End file.
